


All that lurks inside

by MorteMistrata



Series: Lions everywhere [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Hunk (Voltron) Has Anxiety, but that's okay, he's had an abusive childhood, healing through sex, pidge is a prostitute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 20:16:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14268717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorteMistrata/pseuds/MorteMistrata
Summary: Hunk is a simple man, haunted by his memories and the anxiety that controls his life. A customer gives him a business card, and he learns to heal, one day at a time.





	All that lurks inside

**Author's Note:**

> To be clear, I didn't edit this. I can definitely do better, I just didn't feel like it. Maybe in the future, I'll revisit this, but for now, please enjoy, and review.

Hunk closes the bakery early, for the third time since he’s opened it. The first time was for his Grandmother’s funeral. The second time was to visit Lance, who was hospitalized from a gas tank explosion. In comparison,  _ this  _ seems trivial. Who is he to shut the stoves off a quarter to six, to wipe the counters and flip the signs, for a meeting with a _ prostitute _ ? But no, he thinks, shaking his head in reproach. The woman called her comrades  _ sex workers,  _ and when she’d handed him that card, it’d been in the middle of the afternoon, during his lunch-rush. She had been without shame at her job as the Madame, and had seen no wrong in passing the card over sandwiched between her neatly stacked twenty’s. Why should he?

 

Hunk pulls off his apron, folds it neatly, and sets it on the counter. He surveys his shop one last time before he leaves, and then locks the door behind him. The house is within walking distance of his shop, just a block away, where the preppy, residential front blends with the dying historical sector. He has searched the address up, and studied the route so well that he could walk there backwards. Still, anxiety lingers in the pit of his stomach. 

 

He fingers the card, and brushes his thumb over it’s worn edge.  _ The Castle,  _ it reads in gold enamel lettering,  _ where you may rest, a stranger no more.  _ A woman bumps into him as she passes by, and nearly falls off the side of the curb onto the wet asphalt. Hunk catches her, out of reflex more than anything, and then steps back. The woman is tall, and thick-boned, like his mother. There is little else to link the two figures; his mother is twenty years older than she is, and the girl is the wrong color, has the wrong eyes. Still, when he smiles at him, his throat tightens, and his skin itches where she touched him.

 

“Thank you.” She says, her arm brushing against his as she passes by. 

 

Hunk gurgles a belated reply, but his heart is in his throat, and the thought of having embarrassed himself in front of a stranger only makes it worse. He picks up speed, and pulls a bottle of pills from his vest. The familiar shape of the oblong pill steadies his shaking hand long enough for him to swallow it, dry. He can see the front porch of the house from here. He sits on a bench and tries to calm himself down. 

 

There is nothing wrong with me, he thinks. I am a survivor, and I am doing my best. He brushes his hair back from his bandana, and sighs. He’s going to a prostitute today because he needs human interaction, and he doesn’t have enough friends to fulfill the aching hole inside. Great. He stands up, and stretches, relishing each cracking joint. Things could always be worse. 

 

Hunk feels better by the time he gets to the door. It’s painted a nice, deep blue that contrasts nicely with the white and yellow siding. The Victorian style house reminds him of his Grandmother’s house, that his Grandfather had spent years building by hand. It seems cozy. He hesitates for a moment, hand held over the iron-cast knocker, and then decides to knock by hand. 

 

From behind the door, he hears a thud, and the familiar voice of his customer calling to him to hold on. Her name comes to him as she opens the door, wearing an expensive silk robe over a pair of pink leggings and a t-shirt.

 

“Hello, Allura. Nice to see you.” He catches himself before he asks her for her order. His hands start to sweat. 

 

“Oh, there’s no need for formalities, Hunk.” Allura drapes herself on his arm, and steers him inside and to a leather loveseat. “You’re here to do business after all.”

 

“I, um,” Hunk swallows. Allura does not make him anxious. Her demeanor has always reminded him of that of a monarch; not the queen, poised and prompted, but the mistress, who rules from behind the throne. However, this is her territory, and Hunk never feels at ease until he knows how he is supposed to react. “Yes.”

 

“Do you have a type?” She prompts, picking up a cup of tea, half drunk, off of the coffee table. The furniture is oddly muted- all browns and sepias, and it confuses him. He’d thought she’d be a prints, and bright colors kind of girl. “Or if not, I can set you up with one of my nicest girls. Plaxum, she’s great for a first time.”

 

Hunk starts, not realizing that he’d been silent for so long. He messes with his hem. A type, yes, a type. He doesn’t think he has one. He just doesn’t want anyone that’ll remind him of  _ Her _ . Of the kneeling on rice, and running around tracks, and washing her feet after she’d whipped him. “Small.” He finally says. “Someone small.”  _ And completely unlike her.  _

 

Allura nods and sets her tea down on a matching coaster. Her hand trails on his, flour still lodged in the beds of his nails, as she leads him deeper into the house. They walk through a kitchen, beautifully furnished, but sparkling clean, and up a flight of stairs. Pictures guide them; pictures of smiling girls, candid shots. Allura isn’t in any of them.

 

Allura stops before the first room at the top of the stairs, furnished simply with a bed and vase of flowers. “You can wait here while I get her. Is there anything you’d like to request?” She smiles conspiratorially. “We don’t judge.”

 

Hunk shakes his head. 

 

Allura nods once more and disappears into the hall. She returns a moment later with a girl in tow. Allura leaves her in the doorway for a moment, and then, hearing no complaint, leaves, closing the door behind her. 

 

The girl Allura has chosen for him is short, perhaps four feet tall, no more, with short, hazel brown hair, and eyes that gleam mischievously behind round-rimmed glasses. She wears a green sweater that swallows her, and a pair of brown cargo shorts, and no socks. She is nothing like Hunk thought a prostitute would look like. 

 

He admonished himself for stereotyping, and then blushes, because the moment that he was supposed to start the conversation has passed, and now it is awkward.

 

“Hey.” She says, sitting beside him on the foot of the bed. “My name’s Pidge. You’re Hunk, right? From the bakery down the street? I love your peanut butter cookies. They’re the best.” Pidge smiles at him warmly, and leans on his shoulder, as if they were old friends. “You’ve never done this before, right?” Hunk nods. Pidge pulls a wrinkled and worn sheet of paper out of her back pocket, and then holds a finger up to her lips. “Don’t tell ‘llura, but I wrote this down so it’d be easier for you, ‘kay? We charge forty bucks the first hour, thirty for the following ones. If it’s sex, that is. You don’t seem like you’re too sure of yourself, and that’s okay. It’s twenty bucks for cuddling, though to be honest, we’ll both probably fall asleep and loose count, if that’s the way you wanna go. If you’re rough, that’s an extra twenty an hour. If I like you, I might take twenty off.” She winks, and Hunk isn’t sure how to respond. 

 

Ah, but that’s a lie, isn’t it? His dick is already at half-chub, just from sitting next to her, listening to her rattle off prices. Her warm personality, and her ‘girl-next-door’ appearance have him feeling more comfortable than he has in ages around a woman.

 

He places his hand on her knee, and she stops talking, startled by the sudden contact from this statue of a man. “Can we- can we discuss the prices after?”

 

Pidge blushes, cheeks dusting pink like salmon. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to turn this into an infomercial. I can be quiet, if you want.”

 

Hunk shakes his head. “I would- I would like you to keep talking, please, about anything, and well, I’d like you to ride me.”

 

Pidge nods, and pulls her sweater off. It falls to the floor beside them, haphazard, like a burst of moss growing under a bridge. Hunk picks it up, and folds it neatly. When she takes her pants off, he folds that neatly too. Satisfied with the state of things, he pauses to study her. Pale, white skin; areola, dusty pink. A mole rests under her right breast. She pushes him down onto the mattress, a show of strength that is just that- a show. She unbuckles his pants, and tugs them down until he can kick them off. 

 

“I’m going to school to be an engineer. I know that’s vague, but I can’t decide between robotics, or prosthetics, or some mix of the two. See, I’ve got this friend, who got a prosthetic overseas, but he hates it. Reminds him of what happened. Ever since he came back, I’ve wanted to make him a new one.”

 

From underneath the mattress, she produces a condom, cherry flavored, and rolls it onto him with expertise. Hunk feels awkward, just sitting there, but he knows that he’d feel even worse if he tried to touch her. Pidge doesn’t seem to mind his lack in participation. He’s got a feeling that she’s seen weirder. 

 

As she lifts herself onto him, and slowly starts to lower herself onto him, her voice deepens, and starts to waver. He likes the sound of it, likes the way it makes him feel. Hunk forces back a groan just to hear her better. “I’ve got this idea for connecting nerves to the prosthetic so that it can move more- ah! More intuitively. The whole process would start with-” She takes a shuddering breath as she bottoms out. “Double modulating the-”

 

“Double modulating is redundant.” Hunk says, panting. He finds it hard not to thrust up into her when she feels magnetic, like she’s the South pole to his North. “Single modulating works fine.”

 

“Maybe, but when you’re dealing with a person’s limb,” she grunts as she shifts, and then starts to rise back up, skinny, deceptively strong arms steadying herself with his waist. Brown, and white, and scarred and unscarred- it all looks so aesthetically pleasing. The anxiety that usually smothers his heart eases, and he allows himself to touch, to trace one delicate nipple, to cup her tininess in his hands, so large compared to her. “It’s best to be extra, instead of unprepared.” 

 

When she sinks back down, he can see his dick pressing through in her stomach, a bulge, hardly identifiable, if he wasn’t looking for it. He grips her shoulders, and pushes her onto the bed, one hand holding her hands above her head, the other pressing a thick finger against her clit, rubbing off-beat circles until her voice starts to break. “I-ah! I’m thinking wiring inside the arm, which is invasive, but ultimately- for gods’ fuckin’ sakes!” She moans, and fidgets beneath him, unable to break free. She muffles her noises into her arm, and when he fucks her, hard, and deep and everything that he didn’t know that he wanted, she comes apart like a present beneath him. 

 

He comes after her, slow and receding like the tides, and the confidence, the sense of pride in himself disappears. 

 

Hunk slumps against the wall, and brushes sweaty hair out of his eyes. He ties his bandana, and ties a knot in the condom, and dresses quietly as Pidge lays on her back, breathing heavily. If it weren’t for the rising and lowering of her chest, he might’ve thought he’d killed her. 

 

As he tugs his pants on, she opens an eye, and smiles. “You’re a weird one, aren’t you? S’okay. I’m weird too.”

 

Hunk smiles back, and hands her two hundred bucks, fresh and crisp from the till. “Thanks.” He says, and hopes that that can convey all that words cannot; he feels free, for the first time in a long time, from his demons, and all else that lurks inside. 


End file.
